The Long Way Around
by DramaGeek
Summary: Fed up with the TARDIS once again moving her room, Clara sets up a hammock in the lower level of the control room. The Doctor does his best to give her space, but when the environmental system breaks and the temperature shoots through the roof, the Doctor is forced onto the lower level to make repairs. Where he just might get a little distracted by Clara's efforts to keep cool.
1. Stupid Snog Box

**A/N** _I've been wondering about Clara and the TARDIS. Wondering why the TARDIS was so mean to her and why they seem in a much better place by the Day of the Doctor. And naturally, the answer I came up with is a fluffy bit of fun. Guess that's just how my brain works. Enjoy. _

**Chapter 1 - Stupid Snog Box**

Nights were always quiet on the TARDIS. Well, when the Doctor said 'night' he really just meant 'when Clara was sleeping', time of day having little relevance in the time vortex. And by 'always' what he really meant was, 'when he traveled with Clara'. When he'd traveled with the Ponds it seemed easy enough to run off with River while they were sleeping. She was, after all, a Pond, and as her parents they surely wouldn't have objected to her having time away from that cell. But since saying goodbye to her on Trenzalore, the Doctor hadn't sought out River, partially because the wound was too raw and partially because of the timeline. The Doctor was fairly certain he had experienced all of their later time together. What was left were the younger days, just after her regeneration. A River Song who barely knew him. He didn't know if he could bare it (he wondered how she ever managed to).

If the Doctor was being honest with himself (which he tried his best _not_ to be) he had to admit there was another reason he stayed in at _night_: Clara. She already split her time between him and teaching. If she were to wake up and find he was out on some adventure... well, what if she decided to spend even less time with him? Besides, he didn't think he could take the look of disappointment on her face. So each night he stayed in and waited for _morning_.

Fortunately, the advantage of having a bigger-on-the-inside ship was that there was plenty for him to do while he waited. Virtually an infinite world to explore. He kept telling himself that this way he would have time to read through the library or tend to the garden (maybe 'forest' was a more apt name for it, he hadn't looked after it in centuries, for all he knew there was a whole ecosystem down there). He reminded himself that there was plenty to do, and yet he always seemed to opt for fiddling with the TARDIS: fixing, upgrading, breaking things so he could fix it again. As a result he spent most nights (including this one) in the console room.

The Doctor's usual routine was interrupted by the sound of the door. Clara marched into the console room in her pajamas and a large, grey jumper, with some kind of fabric slung over her shoulder. She walked right past the Doctor without saying a word and knelt down by the edge of the landing. She set down the yards of fabric, which the Doctor could now see was a hammock, and began tying it to the railing.

"Um, Clara... What are you doing?"

"Installing a hammock," she said in a casual way.

"Why?"

"Because your stupid snog box move my room. Again."

"Oh..." The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, "You know, she—"

"Stop," Clara looked up at him for the first time and her glare silenced him completely, "don't defend her. Not tonight."

He nodded slowly, looking rather timid. He intended to let her get back to her task, but he couldn't help but ask, "Where'd you get the hammock?"

"The market on Omicron 7. It folds down small enough to fit in your hand, so I've been bringing it with me when I go to wash up at night, just in case... well _this_ happens." With a final look of annoyance Clara secured the knot, tossed the other end of the hammock over the edge, and walked down to the lower level without another word to the Doctor.

His first instinct was to follow her (well, first, second, and third), but he knew by her demeanor that she really just wanted to get some sleep. She got rather grumpy without it. "You could be nicer to her, you know," the Doctor whispered, rubbing the time rotor, "I know she's impossible, but she's not a fixed point or anything. I don't see why it's so hard for you to like her." The TARDIS didn't respond. "Well, you better sort it out, because she's not going anywhere."

* * *

The Doctor did his best to work quietly, aware of Clara's proximity (and not wanting to incur her wrath). He could hear her stringing up her hammock and it swinging as she got into it and tried to find a comfortable position. It wasn't long before all the Doctor heard from the lower level was her slow and even breathing.

Lost to his work the hours ticked by. By the time the Doctor finally raised his head he was almost surprised to realize he had removed his jacket and waist coat. That's when he first noticed it consciously, how incredibly warm the room was. Not just warm, it was hot. Something must be wrong with the TARDIS's environmental system. The Doctor rolled up his sleeves and stared nervously at the stairs. He would need to access the system from below the console. He would just have to work quietly. Who knew how much more the temperature would rise, and Clara would definitely be more angry at him if they melted than if he woke her up.

The Doctor kept his eyes fixed on the central compartment. Clara's pajamas were in no way revealing (Amy's night gown had shown off most of her legs and it hadn't phased the Doctor a bit to go exploring with her like that), but the Doctor still thought it would be indecent to look at Clara while she was asleep. As a result, it was his tunnel vision (and not his clumsiness, surely) that nearly sent him flying across the room. The Doctor looked down at the obstacle that had very nearly tripped him and found Clara's plaid pajama bottoms tangled between his legs. Like a fearful animal he froze and listened carefully. There was no sound in the room apart from Clara's slow and steady breathing. She wasn't awake. She must have tossed them aside in her sleep, her body trying to save her from the oppressive heat. The Doctor move forward, but this time directed his gaze downwards to be sure he stayed upright. Nearing the compartments the Doctor found Clara's jumper. He walked in a wide circle around it, as if afraid to touch it. He was pretty sure she had been wearing a shirt underneath. '_Had been'_ turned out to be a surprisingly accurate description: the next item in front of him was her red tank top. The Doctor wanted nothing more than to fix the environmental system and flee. He was growing more uncomfortable with each article of clothing he found. The Doctor was trying to work out the fastest way to assess and then repair the malfunction (while simultaneously trying _not_ to think about how much Clara had left on) when he came across her knickers hanging from a latches to one of the compartments.

All the colour drained from the Doctor's face. His conscious mind quickly calculated their chances of survival if he ran out of the room at that moment without fixing the environmental system (his subconscious unhelpfully wondered if Clara often slept in the nude). The Doctor's thought process was interrupted by a sigh and what sounded like a stretch. He spun around, staring in the direction of the noise. The Doctor looked like a man caught in a very compromising position, ready to give a full account of his presence in her space. The explanation, however, was put on hold. Clara was still very much asleep.

The Doctor couldn't help but take in her appearance. Her arms were raised above her head, one of her legs hung off the hammock, while the other was bent. She was covered in a light sheet that fell between her legs, up her torso, and just covered her breasts, otherwise she was bare (and judging by the position of the sheet, she was a few breaths away from being far more exposed). Her skin was glorious: smooth and inviting. The Doctor made a face. _Inviting_?! This was Clara, his Clara. He wasn't suppose to think of her as _inviting_ (in moments like this he probably also shouldn't think of her as "_his Clara_" either). The Doctor begged himself to turn around, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. He was mesmerized. Her glowing skin, chocolate hair, cute, little nose, and big, brown eyes. _Eyes_?! Clara had opened her eyes and was staring at him.

The Doctor was petrified, too shocked and afraid to do anything useful like: move, or speak, or simply look away. So he held her gaze for a long moment, with no idea at all what might be running through Clara's head. Suddenly, Clara swung both legs around to the front of the hammock and stood up. The Doctor watched the light blanket fall to the floor.

"Don't worry about the sheet, it's too hot for it anyway." Even so, the Doctor continued to stare at it, not daring to look anywhere else. "Doctor?" her sweet voice beckoned. He did his best to look her in the eye without getting a glimpse of any other part of her body. "Aren't you dying in all of those layers?" Still the Doctor was lost for words. It was too hot to think. He knew he had to get out of there, but his feet felt rooted in the floor. "You can just take them off, you know." The Doctor's index and middle finger tapped lightly against his leg, but both arms remained at his side. "Don't worry Chin Boy, I can help." She was walking over to him. _Run_, the Doctor told himself, _flee, leave. Get out before you do_... Clara stopped mere inches from him. Her hands reached up slowly and unfastened his bow tie. It fell gently to the ground. She paused a moment, as if allowing him the opportunity to stop her, to object, but despite the warring factions inside his mind, the Doctor did no such thing.

**A/N**_ I know, I'm a terrible tease. Tune in next time to find out what happens. _


	2. Returning the Favour

**A/N** _Thanks for the patience. Here's the conclusion. Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 2 - Returning the Favour**

Clara would have never dreamed of being so bold, were it not for the look on the Doctor's face. His eyes darkened with lust, his tongue unconsciously moistening his lips. He looked hungry. Clara had caught glimpses of this before, but the moments were so brief she let herself believe she had imagined them. She wasn't imagining it this time. Clara very slowly unbuttoned his shirt. The Doctor shivered every time her hands brushed against his chest. With the shirt now open, Clara gently ran her hands up his chest. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back slowly. He was sensitive, she should have guessed. Clara's hands reached his shoulders and guided his shirt off. It joined the bow tie on the floor. Clara placed her hands on his belt and stared into his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, _Dare me_. The Doctor gave the tiniest of nods. She unfastened his belt, undid the button of his trousers, and slowly lowered the fly. She could already feel him straining against the fabric of his boxers. _Maybe there wasn't such a think as too keen_, she thought to herself. Clara let the trousers fall as well, they bunched at his ankles, "Careful not to trip," she warned with a smirk.

The Doctor kicked off his shoes and tried to do the same with his trousers, but one of the legs got caught. He nearly toppled over trying to free himself. Clara did her best not to laugh. She could feel a giggle about to escape, but it disappeared when he finally stood and caught her eye. That look was back. The fire, the hunger. He grew bolder, lowering his gaze, taking her in. "You can touch me, you know, Doctor."

His hands were more timid than his eyes. They hesitated a long moment before settling on her sides, a distinct effort to avoid all erogenous zones. Clara placed her hands on his and guided them towards her breasts. He looked a little taken aback, but soon began to caress and knead them gently. Clara let out a sigh and stepped closer to him. She let her hands wander down his chest, over his stomach, and right under the elastic band of his boxers. The Doctor's whole body shuddered as she grabbed hold of him. "So you do like me, then?" she asked with a wink, as her hands moved up and down the length of him. "This is properly excited," she grinned, smugly, pleased she could have an affect on him. She had always been so afraid that it was one sided, that she was the only one with feelings, with cravings. "I'm excited too. Do you want to see?" She was looking him in the eye as her hands continued to move.

"Yes," he managed to say. Clara used her left hand to guide his right hand between her legs. It was the Doctor's turn to look smug. "Clara Oswald," he said with a wicked grin, his fingers moving gently across her folds, "You are _impossibly_ wet."

"I had a head start."

"Did you now?" he asked, moving his deft fingers up to trace circles across her clit. A wave of pleasure washed over Clara. She had to place her forehead against his chest to keep from falling over. Even still, her hands continued to caress him.

"I was dreaming about you. I dreamt you bent me over the console."

"And you enjoyed that?" the Doctor let his index finger tease her opening.

"Oh yes," Clara's breathing was laboured. The Doctor loved the feel of her chest heaving against his. She looked up at him and all of the Doctor's doubts faded away. He bent down and kissed her, a passionate, hungry kiss. She ran her hand over his ass and pulled down his boxers. His hands abandoned her for a moment so that he could pull her into a tight embrace. All that matter to him in that moment was feeling her pressed against him. He took a step towards her, but did not fully consider the boxers at his ankles. With neither arm available to catch himself, he tumbled to the floor, dragging Clara down with him. She landed on top of him with a roar of laughter, but stop the moment she realized their position, they were almost perfectly in line. She could feel the hardness of him against her core. "What do you say, Chin Boy? Wanna show me the stars?"

"Clara," he breathed, "My Clara. Oh yes." All it took was a slight adjustment and she surrounded him fully. Clara began to move up and down. The Doctor rose his hips to meet her each time. "I want to feel more of you," the Doctor managed to say through ragged breaths. Clara raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "All of you," he corrected, and in a moment he was sitting up, her chest pressed against his as he captured her mouth in a long kiss. Clara sped up her pace, leaning her forehead into his. She was getting closer, the Doctor was too, she could feel it, but there was something she wanted before they finished. "Doctor," she raised her head enough to catch his eye, "I want you to take me from behind. Just like in my dream." The Doctor's eyes did a quick scan of their surroundings, looking for a closer option than the console. Showing more coordination than he usually possessed, he managed to stand up with them still connected and carried Clara over to the hammock. They parted long enough for him to bend her over it, before he crashed back into her again. All his restraint was gone, he pounded into her hard and fast, and she met him with equal fervor. The Doctor reached around and stroked her clit. Clara really could see stars behind her eyes now. "I'm close, Doctor," she managed to say in between moans.

Suddenly the Doctor stopped. "I want to see you." He turned her around and lifted her on to the hammock. The Doctor stood in between her legs and slowly entered her, all the while glazing into her eyes. He started off slowly, trying to make it last, but they were both well beyond that. Clara picked up speed and he matched her. Her legs were wrapped around his ass and they both held each other in their arms. Clara was biting her lip, trying to hold in a scream, but it was no use. Her head fell against his shoulder as her body spasmed. He quickly followed, trying to get in the last few thrust before he came undone completely.

* * *

They lay in the hammock in each others arms, a comfortable silence washing over them. The Doctor absentmindedly traced Gallifreyan letters across Clara's stomach. Clara sighed, contentedly, "I'm happy too." The Doctor gave her a puzzled look. "That's what you wrote, isn't it? The Gallifreyan word for happiness and joy?"

He smiled warmly, "I sometimes forget that you understand it."

Clara shrugged, "It comes and it goes, like the other lives."

"What's this one?" he asked, moving his fingers delicately across her abdomen.

"It's cooler."

"Ha! Close. It's 'bow tie'. Well technically it's 'neck adornment', there's no word in Gallifreyan for bow tie—"

"No, the room Doctor, it's cooled down," Clara shivered slightly as she said it.

The Doctor picked the sheet off the ground and wrapped it around them, "The TARDIS must have fixed it."

"I knew it was her fault," Clara said in a matter-of-fact way. She rolled her eyes at his ridiculous machine, when a completely different thought occurred to her, "Do you think she did it on purpose?"

"What, like did she intend for this to happen?" the Doctor asked, pointing a finger between the two of them. The Doctor looked skeptical, "I can't imagine. Although it wouldn't be the strangest thing she's ever done. Did I ever tell you about—"

"Why don't we just ask her?" Clara looked up towards the console, "Activate the voice interface."

"Voice, visual interface activated," came the monotone drone of Clara's voice.

The Doctor nearly fell out of the hammock as the hologram materialized in front of them. Embarrassed, he pulled up the sheet so that he was completely covered. Clara looked baffled by this, "You of all people should know she can always see us."

"Yes," he whispered quickly, as if hoping the TARDIS wouldn't overhear, "but right now I can see her seeing us."

"That's illogical," the TARDIS commented.

"I'm with you," Clara said, surprising even herself by smiling at the voice interface. "The heat, that was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And this, the Doctor and I, did you mean to do this?"

"Yes."

"Why?" the TARDIS looked at her like she was an idiot, as if the answer was obvious. "You don't even like me."

"Why would I dislike you? You led him to me. I was returning the favour."

Clara made a face, trying to process everything she was hearing, "So the moving my room, the locking me out, the turning off the warm water every time I get into the shower, you did all of that to get us to this moment?"

"Of course."

Clara laughed, "That's quite the long play. I'm not complaining about the result or anything, but you've been tormenting me for nearly a year. I mean it took us ages to get here."

"I was already here. You took the long way around."

"Can't argue time with a time machine," the comment earned the Doctor a glare from Clara.

"So we're good then?" Clara asked the TARDIS, "Truce?" The voice interfaced nodded. "Then can you put my room back, please?"

"No need."

"I still have to sleep—"

"You sleep with him."

Clara glanced over at the Doctor, who had been grinning up until then, and now just looked confused, "Wait, I never said—"

"But you will. Now I suppose you don't have to."

"Can't argue time with a time machine," Clara echoed.

The Doctor laughed, "I suppose not. But I can shut her off. Disengage voice interface."

With the hologram gone and the temperature back to normal, Clara began to rise from the hammock, "Time for bed, Doctor. Let's go to our room."

"Actually, sorry, could you say that again?"

"What, _our room_?"

"Okay, just once more," a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Our room," Clara was smiling now too.

"I never realize how much I would enjoy hearing that said out loud," he was beaming at her. The Doctor held out his hand and Clara took it immediately, as she always did. "I was right you know. I told you she liked you."

"Well I was right too, Doctor." He looked at her inquisitively, "I told you this was a snog box," and even after everything that had happened, the Doctor still blushed.


End file.
